


Part II

by Mangerine



Category: World Trigger (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Established Relationship, Future Fic, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:07:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24157096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mangerine/pseuds/Mangerine
Summary: Spring is here again, pulling men out of trion shells and forcing them to live out the rest of their lives. Five years and a life-saving surgery later, Yuma finds that being twenty is hard, especially when everyone else got a head-start, but he's no quitter.
Relationships: (Side) Jin Yuuichi/Tachikawa Kei, (Side) Kumagai Yuuko/Nasu Rei, (Side) Sawamura Kyouko/Shinoda Masafumi, Kuga Yuuma/Mikumo Osamu
Comments: 8
Kudos: 39





	1. HE LIVES!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Winter kept us warm, covering  
> Earth in forgetful snow, feeding  
> A little life with dried tubers.  
> Summer surprised us... 
> 
> ...And went on in sunlight"
> 
> -T.S. Eliot, The Waste Land

Kuga Yuma’s life can be summarized as such:

He is born, then dead at eleven, and simultaneously orphaned.

- _intermission_ -

then undead for a bit, not-quite-sleeping in another dimension.

Five years pass with a measure more joy.

life goes on.

A new world, new friends. He loses his oldest friend, he falls in love.

He has a boy he calls his love.

(There’s that whole thing about recovering abducted family and expeditions too, it’s kind of important.)

life goes on.

×

It is an ordinary day

after a round of solo rank wars when the rotund, racoony head of Border’s R&D department approaches him with a fat folder. Heavy in his hands, Yuma flips through the documents, intimidating with long titles,

“TRION-FLESH SUBSTITUTION PROCEDURE” and “FITTED PROSTHESES”

small fonts and many many numbers.

Yuma is eleven again, grappling with the tenuous possibility of his existence.

Kinuta is a man of science, he doesn’t bring his heart to work, just his brains and objectivity. From what Yuma knows, he left his heart the next town over, with his ex-wife and young daughter.

For Yuma, his words soften just a little.

“At this point in time, you’ve got a fifty percent chance of making it through, sixty, even, if our diagnosis is accurate — which it is. I’ve got my best people on it, kid, and the choice is all yours.”

Yuma twists his father’s ring left, then right.

“Take your time,” Kinuta says, but the choice is intuitive. The manila folder is a heavy weight in his small hands, and he’s suddenly so tired.

“Take your time,” Kinuta says again. Yuma thanks him and walks home.

×

Half a minute into breaking the news, Osamu pulls his knees to his chest and removes his glasses to quietly cry.

They’re alone now in the house they share; Osamu’s mother out on an errand that should take another hour or so. It’s the earliest chance Yuma has to catch his boyfriend alone.

Now, a minute too late, he wonders if he should have taken more time to think this through.

This is a transcript of what they do not say:

“It’s not fair.”

“It never was.”

“We should have gone to the Amusement park and snuck onto the rides I was too short for.”

“We already snuck you into that NC16 movie, and it turned out to be awful.”

“We could always- well, we couldn’t, but we could always-“

“Don’t go, (what if you don’t return?)”

(“What if I do?”)

“We’re happy now.”

“We’re happy (for) now.”

Instead, Yuma wordlessly tosses the words, the files, onto the coffee table and pulls Osamu close. Tries and fails in the dying sunlight to ignore how warm Osamu was compared to himself, or how between the both of them, he could only hear one heartbeat.

He’s sorely overdue for apologies - for causing Osamu all this grief - even now he finds that he isn’t sorry. Not for loving him, and not for taking a fifty percent chance to keep on doing so for the rest of his life. Even if he dies on the operating table, Yuma is content and unapologetic - to have this, to have come to Earth, to have met his friends, to have fallen in love.

He has visited his father’s grave in Cawaria. He has made peace. These twenty years were enough, and his only regret is not getting to meet Replica one last time.

What they have the strength to say is this:

“When?”

“Everything can be ready in a week.”

“I see,” and that’s that.

The night is sleepless.

×

He sees Jin the first thing the next day, by chance or by Jin’s silent prearrangement, he does not know.

Jin’s smile is carefree, so Yuma focuses on that instead of his bloodshot eyes and the dark circles beneath them.

“Side-effect trade,” Jin proposes on the Tamakoma rooftop. “You first, Yuma”

“My best future, what is it like?” Yuma can’t taste the crackers he accepts from Jin. He can’t see the future either. He is more grateful for the latter than the former.

“There are many,” Jin pauses, looking straight at Yuma. “But Four-eyes is always with you.”

Jin dawdles, popping a cracker in his mouth and crunching loudly.

“You travel the neighbourhood,”

Yuma licks crumbs and flavouring dust off his fingers. It tastes like sand. His trion body is degrading slowly. First his sight, he cannot help but see ugly lies. Then his sleep, he cannot rest. Now his taste. Soon, he fears — his heart.

“-in most of them though, both of you just stay right here, sometimes with kids, sometimes with dogs, sometimes with both.”

Yuma floods with bright fantasies; hope is too brilliant.

“They followed the kids home,” Jin finishes.

“I see,” Yuma exhales, heart in his throat, “Your turn.”

Jin dares to take a step closer,

“I have done everything I possibly can.”

Yuma doesn’t blink even as the wind stings his eyes. His pupils remain white; he shows Jin proof of his innocence.

“It isn’t a lie, Jin-san. Thank you, for everything.”

“No. Thank you.”

Jin smiles.

It is rare that he gets to ask the dying if he could be absolved of guilt. Most died so suddenly. He is bashful, Yuma realizes, at receiving such rare vindication.

He’s grateful, that Jin had tried so hard. That Yuma could say goodbye with the truth - there was nothing more Jin could do for him. What fear, he was alone now. What joy, he was never truly alone until this moment.

Jin stares as Yuma walks away. The future shifts, shuffles, and slips away, out of his meddling hands. Jin only looks towards the ones where Yuma is scolding his two muddy children, where he is smiling on his wedding day, smart in a white suit. Jin sees Yuma, tall, strong and alive, crunching on a bonchi cracker.

Jin compartmentalizes, Jin moves on.

The last week is spent as every other. Every morning, Yuma walks Osamu to his university campus and waves at him from the gates. He’d turn as if to walk away, then stay and watch through the tall gates at Osamu’s retreating figure, until he disappears in the distance.

Only then does Yuma make his slow way back, ignoring people his age wondering why a child was alone on campus grounds.

×

Chika meets him after sniper practice.

He knows she knows from the way she looks at him.

“Osamu told you,” he says plainly,

“I overheard him and Jin the other day,” she says plainly as well. It is increasingly difficult to keep the bleakness out their voices.

“How much have you heard?”

“Something about an operation,”

Yuma waits. Chika has no choice but to continue and speak it into truth.

“Jin-san asked Osamu to reconsider, but Osamu said that if it didn’t go well, he’d," Chika focuses on a spot behind Yuma’s left shoulder, going silent.

“… he’d request for me to be transferred to Kageura squad, and that he’d resign from Border.”

Her good heart is too considerate and sore to ask any questions, so Yuma knows she is too good to deny him this:

“Please take care of him,” he says, bleakly.

×

He’d expected restlessness the night before the operation, but he slips into fitful sleep in his warm blankets.

He dreams of Death, a child with white hair and blood red eyes, suited in glossy black armour he knows is his father’s trigger.

Behind Death, he sees a familiar bobbing figure, hovering in place.

“The only who can make that choice is you, Yuma,” it calls, but it echoes with static — Distant. Discordant.

So Yuma charges, hands empty of triggers and rings.

It’s gruesome, entirely so on his end. Death does not crumble easily, and flickers like a hologram, jumping behind him, before him, above him. Still, Yuma kicks and struggles, bites and scratches. He plunges when he gets the chance, gripping Death by the jaw, a step from snapping his neck, when Death kicks him in the gut, to the floor.

“It’s over,” Death states, slamming Yuma’s head against the floor. There’s childish curiousity on his face, genuine confusion at Yuma’s struggle.

“It’s over,” Death repeats. Yuma sees that he isn’t lying.

Death asks, his red eyes probing, hands tight around Yuma’s neck.

“Now that it is over, why you have chosen to live?”

Yuma throws his hands up and presses his thumbs into those damn unlying eyes and screams

“FOR

THE

CHANCE

TO

FIND

OUT”

Blinded, Death bursts, rending apart by the skull, splitting like a tree struck by lightning, trion spilling from him. Yuma fills his depleted trion lungs from where he lies.

At that moment, warm and large hands pull him up, pushing him to Replica.

“Go,” the stranger urges, and he sounds so much like his father that he turns instinctively.

It is a young man, tall and new, head full of downy black curls, red eyes alive and twinkling. He smiles when Yuma gapes at him, teeth flashing like the silver lining behind rainclouds.

“Go on,”

and Hope laughs happily as Yuma runs towards Replica.

×

He kisses Osamu in his mint green scrubs behind the nurse that leads them to the Operations ward. The morning is early, the halls are cold, and Osamu’s hands are clammy.

Despite the circumstances, they both put on their bravest faces like every other day. Yuma tries for the umpteenth time in his life to radiate warmth from his walking corpse. Osamu cherishes Yuma’s loving intention over his failed effort.

“Good luck,” Osamu says lamely, miserable outside the Room.

The nurse is looking at them, so Yuma settles for a coward’s farewell: squeezing Osamu’s hand, then letting go. This time, it is Osamu’s turn to stay, forlorn, as Yuma walks on behind the thick doors to the operation theatre.

The room is similarly cold, doctors in identical scrubs busying themselves with clinking metal in the back of the room. The nurse guides him to the reclining seat in the middle of the room, where he sits, compliant as a cadaver.

Unbidden, a memory surfaces: his father snipping open a rag doll, pulling out yellowed stuffing and carefully filling the limp form up with grains instead, before roughly and deftly stitching it up.

“Good as new,” He remembers the low, sleepy voice, as the doll is passed back to him.

Kinuta holds out a steel dish in front of Yuma.

“You have to take the ring off. We can’t risk trion agglutination.”

Yuma complies, though it takes a few tries before the ring pops off, and clinks into the sterilized dish. It leaves a red indent on his hand, and he shuts his eyes.

That rag doll was stuffed and restuffed, its limbs repaired and button eyes replaced until it fell apart. It was loved and missed, certainly, but wearing away was inevitable.

As he slowly fades from the anesthesia and trion deficit, Yuma remembers the cold, small frame of Death shattering under him, and a deep voice, thick and warm like black coffee in cold mornings.

“Good as new, Yuma, be more careful next time, won’t you?”

×

When he wakes, the world is cotton, soft and indistinct around him. He’s unsure if it is the sunlight or warm fluorescent, if it is him mumbling or someone else quietly conversing in the hallway. He moves his thumb to feel for the familiar smoothness of metal on his index, only to feel a jerk of panic in his ribs when he finds it missing.

He sits up and a sharp pain shoots through his side. Falling back, he promptly slams his head on the headboard.

He reaches up to clutch his throbbing head, but only feels the pressure of his ringless left hand. He strains to turn to his right, finding a bandaged stump where his arm should be, and unfortunately, catches a reflection of himself in his peripheral vision, on the dark glass of the window.

_It’s me_ , he thinks, very much alive, with half his limbs missing, wrapped in bandages like clothes went out of fashion.

With an eyepatch.

“Huh”, Yuma concludes intelligibly, registering the frantic beeping of machinery by his bedside, and smacks his head on the headboard as he passes out again.

He learns his lesson the next time he wakes, and remains lying down, groggy and thankfully in less pain. He feels a warm hand on his, which is very nice, so he simply lies there, letting himself be accompanied in the dark.

The hand is woefully removed when the door opens, and Yuma hears soft whispering from a gentle voice, replied by a softer one, higher in pitch. Most of the conversation is lost to him, save for

“- -- -too hard----jin sa---feteria---get something in your syste— “

Then, in the low, gentle voice, 

“Don’t wor-y about me, Chi—mum dro’d by and—“

And that’s when he slowly opens his eye(s?) and gropes in his blurry reality for Osamu’s hand.

No amount of anesthesia or trion deficit was going to distort that familiar phrase. Yuma had certainly heard that tone of 'Don’t worry' enough times to know it was prudent to start worrying anyway.

“I’m a good boyfriend,” Yuma thinks smugly, and falls asleep as Osamu screams for a nurse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen to the MUSTN'TS, child,  
> Listen to the DON'TS  
> Listen to the SHOULDN'TS  
> The IMPOSSIBLES, the WONT'S  
> Listen to the NEVER HAVES  
> Then listen close to me-  
> Anything can happen, child,  
> ANYTHING can be
> 
> \- Shel Silverstein
> 
> A/N: This fic has only returned because someone wanted it so. Thank you, it will be back slowly.


	2. Marketgraves and Mikado Monster Curry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 葡萄美酒夜光杯，  
> 欲饮琵琶马上催。  
> 醉卧沙场君莫笑，  
> 古来征战几人回。
> 
> -《凉州词》， 王 翰
> 
> Fine wine glitters in this jade chalice  
> and I wish to drink, but war-songs play.  
> Should we drunkards fall, asleep on the sand - sir, I ask you not laugh,  
> Since the dawn of time, how many who left have returned?  
> \- Liangzhou Verse, Wang Han

“No deviation…in gait…pattern…” Kinuta mumbles as he jots down the results into his clipboard.

“That’s good, right?” Yuma asks as Osamu helps him into the wheelchair, pushing him a water bottle.

“We still have some tests to do, but tentatively, we’ll be able to get you fitted with prostheses without much issue. We’ll run diagnostics on your trion gland and see if a trion-controlled prosthesis would be preferable… but the lab would be busy till the twenty-third…and there’s still the matter of the optometrist appointment…” Kinuta trails off.

“We really appreciate this, Kinuta-san,” Osamu says, grateful, and as always, worried for the sleep-deprived Research Head, “Thank you for overseeing this personally.”

“I had a personal interest in it,” Kinuta replies, still flipping through his clipboard, “we’ve made great progress in trion prosthetics, but we’ve never replaced damaged organs with synthetic trion-thread ones on anything larger than a lab rat,” He passes the clipboard to Yuma, flipped open to a page with columns of data.

“Right now you’ve got a pancreas, left kidney, half a stomach and a quarter of your jejunum made entirely from trion, and we’re looking at transplanting your eyes and limbs as well, and if that’s successful, well, we could- we could do so much more,” Kinuta marvels, and pauses, staring vacantly into space.

“God, I love my job.”

“Wait, I’m only 168cm?” Yuma says, squinting at his chart.

“Why do I bother,” Kinuta huffs, snatching his clipboard back,

“Osamu, how tall are you?”

“I’m, uh, more or less that height too-”

“I didn’t know I was dating a boring liar- “

“Yuma…”

“How tall, Osamu?”

“175cm, give or take”

“Give or take **what.** ”

Osamu winces.

“10 centimet- “

“Osamu,” Yuma says, stricken, staring up at his tall, tall boyfriend.

“Suck it up,” Kinuta says, straightening up to his full height of a hundred and sixty-one centimeters, “Just wear heels like the rest of us,” and leaves the room, shoes clicking sharply against the floor.

×

“Ahh, I’ve missed you, depth perception,” Yuma croons, red eyes twinkling. He lets his wheelchair roll off somewhere in their operation room with an offhand nudge.

“Sorry, it’s only for the afternoon patrol,”

Yuma sighs with an exaggerated slump against Osamu’s shoulder.

“Cheer up, we’re meeting Chika and getting Mikado Monster Curry after this,” Osamu laughs, carding his fingers through Yuma’s hair, snowy white again in his trion body, “we’ll get whatever toppings you want.”

“She’s not joining us for patrol?”

Osamu’s hand stills.

“No, she’s going to visit Rinji-san today. Yuzuru-kun is going with her — to see Hatohara-san.”

Rinji and Hatohara — The two they found in the neighbourhood a year ago, thankfully alive but comatose in the Central Hospital, under Border’s watchful eyes. Chika and Yuzuru left without much to do but count their blessings.

The mention of the two was enough to send Osamu into his fretting. His eyes went faraway, worrying about something or other again. Yuma pulls him back on instinct, wrapping his arms around him and smiling wolfishly.

“So I guess it’s juuust you and me today?” he drawls with a suggestive raise of his brows.

Osamu grabs Yuma’s cheek in a gloved hand and pinches as hard as he can.

“Behave, I don’t want a repeat of-”

“Sorry I’m late! I was up with all those reports, the end of year crunch is hell- Oh, my.” Usami blusters into the room in a ramble, glasses askew and bunned-up hair greasy, flaked with crumbs and bits of paper.

“Did I interrupt something?”

“Not at all,” Osamu snaps to attention, extracting himself from Yuma and shooting the recalcitrant albino a Look.

No such luck. Usami smiles with all the nasty cheer of an imp, suddenly alert despite her obvious sleep deprivation.

“Oh? Allow me to put on my _skepticals_ ,” she replies, straightening the red frames askew on her face.

“Honest!” Osamu protests.

“Well, those marks on your neck tell a different story, loverboy!” Usami points, gleefully screaming.

Osamu slaps a hand on his neck, mortified, half a beat before remembering that he was in a trion body.

Ergo, free of any incriminating evidence.

“Ha! Called your bluff!” Usami cheers, no trace of her previous fatigue present.

Osamu’s face flushes brilliantly. Yuma laughs and does not stop. 

“My, my, how scandalous,” Usami continues, having entirely too much fun at Osamu’s expense, “I see the incident last Tuesday wasn’t nearly enough to put you two lovebirds off!”

Osamu groans, suddenly wishing Bail Out functioned within Border HQ. The events of last Tuesday were a hot brand in memory, and he flinches at their mention. Even if he were to conveniently forget, surely his Tamakoma seniors would be all too happy to remind him for the next decade.

“They said they’d be back around dinner,” Osamu yells over the two cackling hyenas in the room. “Yuma-, don’t act like it wasn’t your idea— “

“Don’t act like you weren’t into it- “

“OK! OK! TMI, boys, TMI!” Usami declares, clapping her hands “Border isn’t paying us to gossip,” and, unable to resist, adds, “or make out in our home bases,”

Osamu plants his face firmly into his hands as Usami starts briefing their patrol route for the day.

_(“Jin’s done worse,” Usami consoles as she waves them off._

_“TMI.”_

_“Was it Tachikawa-san?”_

_“Yuma, TMI,”_

_“Isn’t it always when it comes to Jin?”_

_“How much worse was i—”_

_“They were too young to be doing that, and I think I’m still too young to talk about it,”_

_Osamu speedwalks out the operation room.)_

×

Summer heat doesn’t reach past the numb chill of their Trion bodies. The sun is high in the sky as they head to the Marketgrave. Border Management loathes the name and scolds the agents they hear using it along the corridors, but it was apt, and apt names stuck. The Grandfathers would know.

(Border Management hates that nickname as well. Tough luck.) 

The Marketgrave is an old business district in the East zone of the Forbidden Area. It used to be one of Mikado City’s prides, second only to the orchards, but it seemed the Neighbours didn’t quite care for the traditional crafts of Mikado city, and razed the shops down.

Nevertheless, the citizens of Mikado found small blessings, even if said citizens were the lazy stray cats that yawn and stretch and pay Border agents no mind. Being on the fringe of ground zero meant that structural damage was limited, and enough buildings remained standing, providing happy shade.

Depressing scenery all about, but nothing is that bad with company. Osamu updates Usami once he sees the traditional pebble-paved road, before proceeding with their patrol.

Radio silence sustains over their communicators long enough to assume their operator had dialed down the volume of their intercoms. She’d alert them when there was detected activity.

For now, much coveted privacy.

Between school and medical appointments, time alone was rare and precious. Their wonderful operator, as always, notices, and as always, accommodates.

They turn into a dark lane.

Then and only then does Osamu dare to reach out and take Yuma’s hand in his own, lacing them tenderly. The tall shophouses stand guard against the civilian zone that begins three wide streets away.

According to Border Manual of Standards - Operators and Support Personnel (6th Edition)

_“…all operators supporting agents in duty are required to maintain live communication lines at a clear, loud volume…”_

-pg 286, Essential Safety Measures in Duty

Usami’s consideration is an open transgression; but if they went after her, they’d have to go round and dock the pay of nearly every other A and B rank operators. Osamu suspects The Grandfathers know this.

They are reaching the end of the shadowy lane now. Yuma swings their hands gently between them, keeping an eye out for Radds scuttling in the dark. The streets will merge soon, and the bustle of the city and her civilians will cry through the frail structures about them.

Like a pendulum, they keep an easy pace, their warm hands swinging

back

The rules were in place for their safety. Osamu never doubted that. They had a job to do and this was neither the time nor place for comfort.

forth

It’s a matter of perspective. For some agents and their partners, the island of ruin in the center of Mikado was sanctuary.

back

The Bamsters, god forbid, the Marmods — with their thrice-reinforced Trion armour. The feverish clattering of their spear legs, a galloping beetle the size of a horse with one boggling eye rushing at you.

Sometimes Osamu dreams of being stabbed over and over and over, but the worst nightmares are his mother’s cold, stiff body in a coffin.

Two hands out, one in his Raygust and the other open with Asteroid. No hands to spare for Yuma.

forth

The civilians – your sister, your classmates, the old lady that sold croquettes down the road, with their sharp eyes and caustic, alkaline hearts. Their soapy words that froth in empty rooms, bubbles that rose and rose but never quite popped.

some love is just

some love is just just just just

unnatural

both hands free here, both hands free there, but none to hold.

back—

“Sorry to interrupt, boys, the radar is clear. Just finish the round and circle back!” and Usami was gone again.

forth, forth, forth, forth,

The Operator's duty is to support their agents. So if they had to keep a finger on the volume control, and match-make patrol schedules,

\- be that awkward plus one at a party,

-pick up a tearful call at 3.45am on a school night,

-all while keeping their teammates alive—

_"I do so solemnly swear,_

_by the Agents of Border, and the Citizens of our home, making them our witnesses, that I will carry out, according to my ability and judgment, this oath and this indenture…_

_…To hold my team in this mission equal to family, impart them instruction and support….”_

-pg 1, The Operator’s Pledge

Osamu looks at the languid cats stretching and rolling on their backs, comfortable in the wreckage. Yuma squeezes his hand gently and smiles at him. He was faraway again. Osamu smiles back in reassurance, and they walk together, hand in hand in the light of the sun.

×

A prominent charred building comes into sight at a turn, flakes of its old cherry blossom paint still intact. Konami-senpai frequented for their handmade dorayaki, still brings it up in conversation and suggests bringing Osamu and Yuma to visit.

The owners escaped the first invasion unscathed, but the new shop had since relocated far from her walk to Tamakoma. Osamu recognizes the logo from when someone makes the long trip to purchase them, once a blue moon.

“We’ve reached Kanoya already?” Yuma asks, unlinking his left hand from Osamu’s right, walking ahead to peer into the one intact window of the building, caked in a layer of dust. “You know, once Yoneya and Midorikawa found some snacks still in there, and Midorikawa dared Yonaya to eat them.”

“Is that why they got food poisoning for a week that one time?” Osamu replies, unfazed after years of antics.

“Nope, that was from Kako’s ‘White Chocolate Squid Feet Fried Rice’,” Yuma pokes his head through the debris of the old shop.

“Squid Feet? Do squid even have- Yuma, what are you doing?” Osamu yelps as Yuma sticks his left foot and upper torso into the darkness of the old shop, trying his level best to squeeze the rest of himself in.

“I’m gonna see if there are any more snacks! Finders’ Keepers!” he roars like a battle cry. 

At a loss for a suitable reply, even after so many years.

Osamu turns to explore the shops. All are dark and dusty, mysteriously enticing as they were before the invasion. Beside Kanoya is a traditional craft shop, with beautiful Japanese dolls still in their shattered display cases. Shaken from their stand, lying on their sides, kimonos crumpled, but their intricately painted faces unscathed.

The next store, an old diner. Untouched in the wreckage are imitation sashimi slices, glistening and fat. Shaken from their dark lacquered plates, the floor is garnished with wasabi flowers and plastic leaves among the glass.

Quickly engrossed, Osamu wanders the lonely streets. An old model train, long as his arms and derailed from its plastic tracks, would catch his attention (though the model bridges had anachronistic support frames, much to his displeasure). On the opposite lane, an old camera shop beckons with faded photographs of Mikado City, and he marvels at the old landscape, foreign with the absent Border base.

His phone buzzes, and only then does he realize the sun is done with the afternoon tantrum and has stomped away in the horizon. It’s nearly time for dinner with Chika.

Osamu hurries back down the street, hoping Yuma was done with his adventure. Going in to look for him certainly wasn’t an enthusiastic thought - he hurries, past the cameras, the train model —

A shimmer of white in a store catches the waning sunlight and his eye.

This store is dark like the rest, its sign faded beyond legibility. Its sprawling display pane is shattered at a corner, large enough for a child to simply walk in – though an adult could creep in with ease.

Even an adult as tall as Osamu.

“Jackpot!” Yuma yells, extracting his left foot from a tangle of fallen beams, arms full of packaged candies. “Osamu! Look what I found! Some of these aren’t even that long past their expiry! Let’s feed them to Raiji- Osamu?”

The streets are empty and Yuma wonders, incredulous, if Osamu had left without him. Just then, a familiar teal uniform appeared at the far end of the street, crawling carefully out of a shop.

“Osamu!” Yuma calls, “You went exploring too!”

Osamu nods, quiet and evasive, “C’mon, let’s go before we make Chika wait.”

A white trail of lace hangs out of Osamu’s uniform pocket. When he notices Yuma staring, he surreptitiously tucks it in.

Unable to bend and peek through the broken glass with his heaping spoils of war, Yuma settles for squinting past the dark window. From what little he can see, it was a bespoke tailor of sorts.

More mannequins lay fallen than standing, all clad in western formals. There was a work counter to the right, scissors and tape measures strewn across the countertop. Bales of cloth lined the walls like soldiers. Other than that, not much else.

Yuma takes two cautious steps back and turns, ready to leave, when a shimmer of white catches the sunlight, at the farthest end of the shop.

A beautiful white gown, with a long satin train that extends into the darkness behind it, complete with a lace veil, simple yet elegant. Beside it, a matching white tuxedo, its broad-shouldered silhouette timeless and classic. The satin border of its lapels flickered in the late afternoon sun, catching sunlight like butterfly wings.

Yuma shifts to leave, then sees himself reflected in the dark glass, aligned with the headless, tuxedo clad mannequin.

If he squints, it’s almost him in the neatly pressed suit, waiting to be wedded.

What was Osamu doing in there?

Yuma runs down the street, hands full of expired candy and head void of answers.

×

“Chika! Sorry we’re late!” Osamu greets. Yuma waves, in his wheelchair again, similarly contrite.

“It’s fine, dinner rush hasn’t started anyway. Let’s go in! I’ve been dreaming of Chicken Katsu Curry for weeks.”

“A whole plate? Chika, the servings here are twice the size of my head,” Osamu says, pulled into the shop. The cozy restaurant is small; their servings are anything but.

“It’s not that big. Should I get extra cheese? I’m thinking omelette with extra cheese.” Chika decides firmly.

“I’m getting heartburn listening to you, Chika” Osamu sighs, “Yuma, we’re sharing a plate?”

“Yeah, you eat like a bird anyway,”

“It’s not my fault you both manage to pack away a buffet despite being half my height.” Osamu protests when they laugh. That earns a kick from Chika under the table.

“Just pick your toppings, tweety,” Yuma laughs, handing Osamu the menu.

Chika ends up ordering seconds, and Osamu gives up around the fifteen-minute mark. Their conversation jumps from Rinji and Hatohara’s condition, stagnant but stable, to the upcoming Aftokrator diplomatic trip (“I wish I could go, but Kinuta says I’m getting fitted for prosthetics. Say hi to Hyuse for me.”).

The bill comes just as Osamu complains to Chika about Yuma attempting to feed Usami expired dorayaki from their patrol.

“She doesn’t mind, she’d have done it for science-“

“-those things were fresh back when I was your height; what do you expect to happen?”

“Low blow, Osamu- “

“How else would it hit you?”

These nights, the three of them are young again, living out the childhood they traded for war.

“Everyone knows sweets don’t expire, facts of life. I learnt it from Konami-senpai.”

“She still thinks Raijinmaru is a dog, by the way.”

“So does Hyuse, what’s your point?”

“Guys, all this talk about sweets is making me want dessert,” Chika chimes in.

“I vote ice cream,” Yuma pipes up, not missing a beat

“There is no way you can still fit food in your bodies.”

“I’m a neighbour” Yuma says, winking. Osamu thinks he is, rather. It‘s hard to tell with the eyepatch.

“Producing trion takes energy.”

Chika’s classic excuse. She’s already fishing out a loyalty card for the Lazy Sundaes joint down the lane.

“I give up,” Osamu sighs, wheeling a cheering Yuma after Chika.

A scoop of Rocky-road does sound pretty good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kanoya is a canon traditional Japanese sweetshop featured in the Volume 16 extras. Credit @chippokenabokura (tumblr) for the kind translations.
> 
> Mikado Monster Curry isn't canon, but based on Monster Curry, a Japanese curry fast-food chain. The serving sizes are huge, you can customize toppings, spiciness levels range from 1 (Super Weenie Hut Jr.) to 5 (Salty Spittoon).
> 
> Recently, they had a spicy challenge and I’m pleased to report level 10 was easily surmountable.


	3. Alone together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's be alone together/  
> We could stay young forever/  
> We'll stay young/  
> young, young, young, young/  
> -Alone Together, Fall Out Boy

“Toothbrush, check, Toothpaste, check, Underwear, check, Disposable briefs for Tachikawa-san—”

“Just tell him no when he asks,” Yuma replies, peering over a worn volume of “Borderless Love”.

“Assuming if he actually asks before taking my underwear, sometimes I wonder if he even packs for expedition trips.”

Yuma knows he doesn’t, and laughs from the bed as Osamu rushes through his final luggage check.

A pity that he wasn’t going this time; a strict regime of rest, physiotherapy and university preparation benched him for the week. A photo is tacked on Yuma’s messy corkboard, above his equally messy desk: Tamakoma 2 back from their first expedition trip. Tired, Happy. Slightly singed from a harrowing escape.

If Yuma were honest, he misses the chaos of the Neighbourhood.

It’s already looking to be a boring three days and two nights without Osamu and Chika. Yosuke would be on double patrol; Miwa Squad usually was when an expedition trip was ongoing.

Midorikawa was finally able to join his team on scouting trips, which meant he was halfway across Japan now, wreaking havoc in Kyoto. Konami-senpai was interning at a boring desk job she hated; didn’t even seem keen on a fight or two. He’d stockpiled some dorayakis in Tamakoma HQ for her out of concern, hoping that Yotaro hadn’t grown tall enough to reach the top shelves of the kitchen.

He missed Osamu already, even though he was two steps away, rustling through his bags to confirm that yes, he did pack granola bars for Chika.

“Alright, seems like that’s done with, _oof_ \--Yuma?”

Osamu finds himself trapped in a warm embrace by a pouting neighbour.

_‘I want you to staaaaaay’_ Osamu hears in the way Yuma sighs into Osamu’s back.

_‘I want to stay too’_ Osamu replies by soothing a hand along Yuma’s arm, wrapped about his waist.

“Let’s go to bed.” He cajoles, “I’m done packing anyway,”

“mmmmgrhgh,” comes the sullen answer.

“Come on,” Osamu laughs, and peels himself from the constricting hug. Yuma pouts magnificently, looping a mechanical finger around Osamu’s index, petulant as Osamu checks the list again.

“- forgot my coat,” Osamu remarks, starting to the door. “I should ask mum where she stored it.”

“It’s summer in Afto right now.”

“Can’t be too safe. Go to bed, Yuma, and don’t fall asleep on my book- “

“Your trashy romance novel.”

“My paperback literature,” Osamu defends, heading down the stairs.

Yuma smiles fondly and turns to switch the desk light off. Osamu’s checklist catches his eyes, crisp and neat on the table.

PACK LIST:

T-shirts [4x] (tick)

Pants [4x] (tick)

Underwear [8x] (tick)

Underwear [Tachikawa-san, 2 packs] (tick)

Granola and Rice Crisps for Chika (tick)

Toiletries (tick)

Coat

Grabbing a red pen, Yuma scrawls quickly in the empty space below, flipping the note over and the light switch off, dousing the room in darkness.

A moment later, Osamu walks in, drops the soft weight of the coat on his desk and climbs into bed.

Three days is nothing; they’ve lasted years without each other. Osamu pulls the covers over them and Yuma pulls him closer by the waist. They would wait for this, the soft linen, the barely-there ticking of the small clock, the strawberry shampoo they share. Three days is nothing.

×

The away ship is massive and demands you notice it, bellowing its engine and screeching as the massive door slams open like a steel shark yawning.

“Awright, load up,” Kinuta shouts over the monstrous din.

It’s the usual lineup, Tachikawa and Kazama squad standing smart in their uniforms, black and navy luggage beside them. Ninomiya squad stands a little further away, avoiding eye contact with the other teams, huddled together and talking quietly.

Osamu trots into the departure bay with his luggage, walking straight to Chika’s side, where Usami was excitedly chatting with Yoneya.

“Morning, Chika,” He whispers. Chika sways dangerously, quite obviously half-asleep. She perks up enough to smile sleepily at him and hand him a folder of her insurance statements, along with her Border Identification Card.

“Didn’t get much sleep?” Osamu guides her to slump against her luggage. He predictably gets a soft snore in reply.

“Me?” Usami turns to Osamu suddenly, waving away her cousin.

“I know you didn’t get sleep, Usami-san,” Osamu replies drily. She shoves him a splotchy manila folder, nearly missing his outstretched hand altogether. It’s sloppily and suspiciously labelled 'VERY IMPRTNT'. Her card is stuck on it as well, with no tape or glue, just a mysterious glittery tack and many shiny holographic stickers.

“You would be right!” Usami cheers, “Forty-eight hours and counting, baby!”

“Good luck,” Yoneya mouths from behind his energy drink-addled cousin.

Osamu hopes Kinuta won’t yell at him for the dubious state of their operator’s documents. Occupational hazard of being the team captain.

“I’m glad she removed the googley eyes this time,” Kinuta snarks, pulling out their forms and signing them, careful and deliberate, before slotting them into a box behind him. He scans each of their cards, registering them into the expedition ship’s system.

Osamu manages to wake Chika long enough to get her onto the ship and Usami thankfully falls asleep the moment she settled in. She’d complain about building up immunity to her energy drinks when she woke, but for now, peace in the team cabin.

Osamu tucks his luggage into the small cubbies overhead, and settles into the stiff leather of his seat, suddenly tired. Morning flights were rough on the soul.

He thinks of Yuma sleeping back home.

When he wakes, Osamu would be in another dimension, and all he’d have would be a small to-do list tucked into his hand. On it:

T-shirts [4x] (tick)

Pants [4x] (tick)

Underwear [8x] (tick)

Underwear [Tachikawa-san, 2 packs] (tick)

Granola and Rice Crisps for Chika (tick)

Toiletries (tick)

Coat (tick)

KISS YOUR BOYFRIEND GOODBYE

(tick)

×

“Kuga-kun!” Nasu exclaims, wheeling herself to the parallel bars, “Congratulations on your official discharge!”

“Nasu-san,” Yuma greets, not without visible strain, “It’s nice to see you, I got your fruit basket, thank you.”

It’s physiotherapy day, dreaded and anticipated like the big drop on a rollercoaster, except thrice a week.

“You’re welcome,” Nasu replies, pausing as Yuma lowers himself into his wheelchair. “Are you here alone?”

Yuma unlocks his wheelchair and maneuvers himself to Nasu’s side “Yep, the team’s next dimension over and I’m playing benchwarmer.”

“For now,” Nasu comforts, “I’m sure you’ll join them on the next round,” she places a comforting hand on Yuma’s, just to be sure.

“You’re getting the hang of your prosthetics, I’m sure Med Bay will give you the green light soon.”

“You think so?” Yuma runs a hand over his thigh, feeling the ridge where the black trion material met flesh, “Walking still gives me hell.”

“It’s normal, Kuga-kun, why, it’s been a decade and Kuma-chan still gets sore at the end of the day with hers, and some days my cousin, you know Tooru, well yes- he used to be right handed, but now he’s ambidextrous because it hurts to write on a bad day.”

Yuma purses his lips thoughtfully, lingering frustration still clear on his face.

“Are you done for today?” Nasu asks gently,

Yuma looks around the near empty gym, tempted to give himself another hour or so. His joints knew better, though, pulsing with just enough pain to tell him to quit it.

“Yes, yes I am.”

“Will you accompany me to the juice bar? Kuma should be done with her physio soon,”

“Sure, I’m meeting Kasumi-san at the lobby soon - that’s Osamu’s mum, - since he’s on the away trip.”

“Oh yes, I heard that you’ve moved in with Mikumo-kun, how nice,” Nasu says, unable to keep the bitterness from her voice “-of his parents too, how good of them.”

“Yes,” Yuma says, as they wheel themselves into the large elevator and make their way down. He places a comforting hand on hers anyway.

Just to be sure.

Kumagai is waiting with a glass of Vanillaberry Protein Supreme shake when they arrive. There’s an untouched Peachpear Swirl beside it. Upon seeing them, she waves enthusiastically, pressing a chaste kiss on Nasu’s sweaty cheek when they wheel over.

“You both look like shit,” Kumagai greets, and Nasu swats at her.

Kumagai only laughs and hands a grateful Nasu her usual drink.

“I didn’t know you used the community gym, Kuga,” Kumagai remarks, draining her Vanillaberry in one gulp, “I always see you at Border Med Bay.”

“Today’s special,” Yuma says, putting down the overcomplicated menu, “Osamu’s away so his mum’s meeting to pick me up later; here’s nearer for her.”

“Osamu? Oh, Mikumo, your boyfriend? I swear, it’s like, the curse of being an attacker, being this gay for our captains- ow, babe -- anyway, isn’t this place nice? It’s not as fancy as Border but it’s big enough and the equipment’s pretty new — you done with that?” She points at the laminated plastic menu.

“Ah, yeah, I think I’ll get the, uh,” Yuma squints at the offensively neon list, “Mint, Green, Cocokiwi Machine.”

“Ew, don’t. That’s coconut type coco; not like, chocolate cocoa. It tastes like how Commander Kido looks-ouch! Babe, I was quoting you, OW! C’mon, Kuga, I’ll get us the Blueberry Banana Blitz, my treat.”

Nasu watches her girlfriend go with a sigh, opening her mouth as if to apologize, then just sighing again.

“Try it!” Kumagai insists, intense like a furnace when their order arrives. Yuma suspects it’d explode in his mouth right out the straw— the tall dessert glass is filled to the brim with something electric blue and topped with whipped cream, buttery and thick.

He takes a cautious sip, and reels. It stings almost spicy from how cold it is. The whipped cream turns out to be finely pureed banana, smooth and sweet.

It was a mystifying concoction, peculiar and potent.

“I want seconds,” Yuma says the moment he drains it.

“Oh no,” Nasu moans.

“Team Blue!” Kumagai screeches, nearly upsetting her own drink

“Team Blue!” The matronly figure behind the juice booth echoes.

“Oh no,” Yuma says, smiling.

×

“This leg was awful when I first got it,” Kumagai says, lentissimo after her third Blitz, “Two hours in and I’m walking like I’ve got the wedgie of the century.”

“I’ll toast to that,” Yuma replies, tongue blue and numb, clinking his second glass solemnly against Kumagai’s.

“Once I-, we,” Nasu gestures between herself and Kumagai, “planned a date. Our first one. Ever. And I was so prepared — I picked my outfit and researched on all the places we could go and I checked the weather report so many times, I was ready to go on a date in a hurricane. But then I wake up the next morning with like, negative spoons, I was melting into my bed, so I- “

She swallows, turning a little red at the memory, but her eyes are fiery.

“-like any logical girl, used my trigger, and went to see her anyway. We had so much fun; we went to the aquarium and café hopping and even caught two late night movies. We just didn’t want to go home — and at midnight exactly, we got summoned by the Grandfathers: to explain why I was using my trion body on non-official circumstances.”

Kumagai rolls her eyes, “God, the old fu-”

Nasu clicks her tongue,

“-farts, the old farts had the biggest meltdown over it, as if Tachikawa-san doesn’t use his trion body all day when he gets a hangover. I told them where they could shove their rulebook.”

“Tooru put in a good word for us,” Nasu laughs, “But really, what good’s a trion body a girl can’t go on a date in the city she protects?”

Yuma laughs.

“I’ll toast to that too,”

All their tongues are blue by sunset. Nasu takes selfies and promises all the B-ranks would see it by tomorrow.

Sunlight slips by like satin, spilling gold at a sharp angle through dusty panels of the old medical center. They relocate to the lobby, and Yuma protests, but they insist on waiting with him for Kasumi.

Yuma and Nasu push their wheelchairs up against each other and Kumagai perches on the armrests between them. In the empty lobby, they talk about the future.

Nasu starts.

“Kindergarten teacher,” and Kumagai follows up with a “Jesus, I don’t know, maybe a PE teacher, but not for kids, I think I’d kill one of them on accident.”

The three laugh boisterously and Yuma clumsily adds that he might ask Shinoda if there were openings in Border. It’s entirely foreign, living and being expected to live, being asked about plans for a future he didn’t think he’d get to experience. The girls nod in agreement.

“Border always needs more help, Kuga-kun.” Nasu encourages.

“The benefits are sweet too, like medical insurance and stuff, makes things like this,” Kumagai wiggles her left below-knee prosthetic, “that much easier. Not like we’ll be young forever.”

Yuma almost says something despondent; about how being young forever actually sucked — he would know. Kasumi arrives then, somehow making the casual combination of shorts, flipflops and a messy bun look elegant. She introduces herself, making both girls blush when she recalls hearing about a 'talented and strong all-girls team' from her son.

“We’ll get going, it’s getting dark,” Nasu smiles, and Kumagai stands and takes her place, naturally, behind her leader, hands on the grip of the wheelchair.

“So nice meeting you girls. Please stop by for dinner soon.” Kasumi replies. Once the girls leave, safely out of earshot, she whispers conspiratorially, “What a cute couple they’d make.”

“They’re way ahead of you, Kasumi-san.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mikado City Community Clinic: Enduring service for enduring souls


End file.
